Night Over Water - Ken Follett [96]
Diana drank some brandy to give her strength. Mervyn was watching her anxiously. His expression of bewilderment and hurt made her want to throw herself into his arms. He had come all this way without knowing what sort of reception he would get. She reached out and touched his arm reassuringly.
To her surprise, he looked uncomfortable and threw a worried glance at Mark, as if he felt disconcerted at being touched by his wife in front of her lover. His Irish whiskey came and he drank it quickly. Mark looked wounded, and moved his chair closer to the table again.
Diana felt flustered. She had never been in a situation like this. They both loved her. She had been to bed with both of them—and they both knew it. It was unbearably embarrassing. She wanted to comfort them both, but she was afraid to. Feeling defensive, she leaned back, putting more space between herself and them. “Mervyn,” she said, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He looked hard at her. “I believe you,” he said evenly.
“Do you ... ? Can you understand what happened?”
“I can grasp the broad outlines, simple soul though I am,” he said sarcastically. “You’ve run off with your fancy man.” He looked at Mark and leaned toward him aggressively. “An American, I gather, the weedy type who’ll let you have your own way.”
Mark leaned back and said nothing, but stared intently at Mervyn. Mark was not a confronter. He did not look offended, just intrigued. Mervyn had been a major figure in Mark’s life, although they had never met. All these months Mark must have been consumed with curiosity about the man Diana slept with every night. Now he was finding out, and he was fascinated. Mervyn, by contrast, was not the least interested in Mark.
Diana watched the two men. They could hardly have been more different. Mervyn was tall, aggressive, bitter, nervy; Mark was small, neat, alert, open-minded. The thought occurred to her that Mark would probably use this scene in a comedy script one day.
Her eyes were heavy with tears. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I know I’ve been imprudent,” she said.
“Imprudent!” Mervyn snapped, mocking the inadequacy of the word. “You’ve been bloody daft.”
Diana winced. His scorn always cut her to the quick. But on this occasion she deserved it.
The barmaid and the two men in the corner were following the conversation with unabashed interest. Mervyn waved to the barmaid and called out: “Could I have a plate of ham sandwiches, love?”
“With pleasure,” she said politely. Barmaids always liked Mervyn.
Diana said: “I just ... I’ve been so miserable lately. I was only looking for a little happiness.”
“Looking for happiness! In America—where you’ve no friends, no relations, no home.... Where’s your sense?”
She was grateful to him for coming, but she wished he would be kinder. She felt Mark’s hand on her shoulder. “Don’t listen to him,” he said quietly. “Why shouldn’t you be happy? There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She looked fearfully at Mervyn, afraid of offending him further. He might yet reject her. How humiliating it would be if he should spurn her in front of Mark (and, she thought in the back of her mind, while the horrible Lulu Bell was on the scene). He was capable of it: that was the kind of thing he did. She wished now that he had not followed her. It meant he would have to make a spot decision. Given more time, she could have soothed his wounded pride. This was too rushed. She picked up her glass and put it to her lips, then set it down untasted. “I don’t want this,” she said.
Mark said: “I expect you’d like a cup of tea.”
That was just what she wanted. “Yes, I’d love it.”
Mark went to the bar and ordered it.
Mervyn would never have done that: to his way of thinking, tea was got by women. He